Humor
Beside the Bride
Have you ever wondered what the underside of a table looks like? Not a cheap folding table that folds out every Christmas for your cousin’s four kids and your younger brother who couldn’t fit at the adult table. I’m talking about the underside of a real table. A table with four triangles of wood connecting the legs to the top. One with thick support beams crisscrossing between the corners that didn’t get the glossy finish of the topside, each roughly sanded with sharp points sticking out here and there. A pinch of pain serges through my pointer finger. Great! Because who doesn’t love a splinter.
By Scott Bradbrook4 years ago in Fiction
One and One
Have you ever had one of those nights when you just want to drive around town, maybe stop at a gas station for a bite and then keep going? Without a specific idea where to go, or even a plan about what to do. And you roll your windows down, you start listening to the local radio station that you haven't listened for a while, you take the service road running along the side of the freeway, turning right and left a few times in a row, making time to look like it stopped without consequences. Is one of those days when your mind runs rampant and the white noise makes a ringtone keep buzzing in your ear.
By Alex Torres4 years ago in Fiction
The Folks Save Money
My brothers and sisters and I lived our childhood as though we had been shipwrecked on a desert island and had to survive dependent only on what we found or manufactured ourselves. This, despite the reality that we lived in a completely normal plat in a smallish town and my parents both earned above average incomes.
By Valerie Kittell4 years ago in Fiction
You Make Me Crazy
Every morning, I spend ten minutes pretending I’m asleep. For those ten minutes, I feel your eyes on me as I make this peaceful, pretty, princess face, and you press your forehead against mine for a real long time because you love me so much. Then, when you’ve exhausted your devotion, you hit your alarm clock and shuffle around our charming, rickety little start-up house in San Francisco, and I hop in the shower with the bathroom door open. Then, I get out of the shower and shut the door while I weigh myself because you don’t want to see that.
By Kiana Brizendine4 years ago in Fiction
Qualifications
“Alright, where are they? There they are! Both of you on time, this is perfect.” Mr. Tussen looked up and down the pair of applicants waiting on the office bench and pulled out two resumes from his briefcase. He motioned for them to follow him as they walked from the waiting room to his office with double doors. This place had been a labyrinth for many previous potential employees, all of which were declined for the sought-after position. Mr. Tussen shut the doors and circled around his desk, fixing all of his accolades and degrees that were displayed on the wall. They were on the fifteenth floor, which was dedicated for only the higher-ups of the company. Each executive presented their diplomas and rewards with pride in their office. Every desk offered a career’s worth of acknowledgement; all except for one. The spot for Chief Operations Manager was still up for grabs. Mr. Tussen cleared his throat before speaking.
By Daniel Klim4 years ago in Fiction
